


Catch Me I'm Falling

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 07, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:39:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: Daryl escaped from Negan and came back to them, but he's not completely back, not really. With Michonne's blessing, Rick does his best to bring his brother home.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maebe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maebe/gifts).



> As usual, Kirsten has the best ideas. Thank you for this prompt, dear.

The sun has set on the day they all came together again, and once more they've gone their separate ways.

None of them far, at least. Not to islands or forests or jail cells. To their own houses, their own beds. It's been a day of celebration, yes, but of planning too, and it's unsure which is more exhausting these days.

Michonne is alone in their room now. Rick left her there. Walking home with their knuckles brushing and mounting the stairs and looking at their pile of bedding, he expected they were thinking the same thing. When he looked at her, saw her smile, soft and sad, he knew they were. So he kissed her, long and deep like she did the last time he left her, rolled his forehead against hers— _I'm still with you_ —and left her there.

He'd seen through the meeting at the Hilltop how much Daryl was hurting, and how much it was taking him to hide it. Favoring his right side, eyes drifting closed and then snapping open, quieter even than he usually is. No one asked him for information on the Saviors' compound. No one gave him much attention at all, because of course that's all they wanted to give. Rick saw Maggie eyeing Daryl a few times too, brows scrunched in concern, but the man remained seemingly oblivious. Leaned on his forearms and stared at the table and looked so tired that Rick's bones ached for him.

Rick doesn't know that Daryl will come to the attic bedroom designated his—Rick doesn't know if Daryl ever used it at all, even when it had a mattress—but with the upstairs shower running it's as safe a bet as any. So he lays out some blankets and plumps the pillows and waits.

Daryl is fully dressed when he opens the door and freezes at the sight of Rick waiting for him. Rick is almost glad for Daryl's covering. He doesn't want to know the extent of Daryl's injuries, not yet; Daryl'd waved off any suggestions of examination with a violence that set a stone in the pit of Rick's stomach. It sent him here.

Daryl's hair is wet, with water now instead of sweat but still hanging in his face. Even from across the room he smells soft and clean. He looks small in the oversized sweat suit he wears, no matter how tall he tries to hold himself, and after a few moments of meeting Rick's gaze he stops trying; lets his shoulders slump, his breath empty into the room as he steps forward and closes the door.

Rick opens his legs, and Daryl doesn't hesitate; walks forward and stumbles to the ground, missing his usual grace, crawls into the cradle of Rick's hips and turns around, sinking back with a barely-bitten down groan. Rick catches him, maneuvering them both so Daryl's head rests comfortably against Rick's shoulder, his large body spread across Rick like a blanket. Rick shudders, a little, and he knows what they're both remembering; those times in the prison, a lifetime ago, when they had the space and the time and the joy to explore each other. Only a few times. Barely a habit. But Rick aches for that time when they were young men. Younger. Not these two ancients with creaking bones and greyed hair and the only want a warm bed and a warm body to share it with.

They don't have the beds anymore. But despite what he's gone through—whatever he's gone through, like Rick even knows—Daryl is as warm as he's ever been, the expansion of his torso as he breathes like the billowing of a fireplace. Rick doesn't hold him so much as frames him; arms curved around Daryl's arms, fingertips drifting along the sides of the man's torso. Not checking for injuries, not yet; his touch isn't firm enough for that. But Daryl shudders like he's in pain and Rick stops, hands lingering on Daryl's stomach.

“Ok?” Rick asks. They both know he could be referencing any number of things.

Daryl doesn't answer, not at first. Shudders again, and Rick is wondering if he's cold when Daryl turns his head, pressing his face into Rick's throat. His breath is heavy and warm on Rick's skin, almost feverish, and Rick is half-considering dragging Daryl to the infirmary no matter his protestations when Rick feels a pressure on his hand. He looks down, sees Daryl gripping at him; too clumsy to twine their fingers together so Rick does it for him, closing their hands and resting his cheek on Daryl's forehead.

He doesn't want to, but with Daryl pressed against him like this he thinks about their time at the prison. His chest aches with it; not just for the people they've lost since then, or the peace that went with them, but for this; the quiet moments when Rick would go to Daryl's cell or Daryl would find him in the guard tower and they'd touch each other. Sometimes like this, just resting, but others... Daryl's so warm—he was in a place so cold but he's warm across Rick's front, warm as he ever was, and Rick feels with some measure of shame as his cock rises a little, nudges the small of Daryl's back.

Rick doesn’t have to wonder if Daryl notices—Daryl notices everything, especially when it comes to his own body—but still, Daryl doesn't react, not at first. Doesn't even shift his weight, away or towards; seems too exhausted to move, a boneless heap against Rick's chest.

Rick covers their entwined hands with his free one, squeezing the slightest bit; feeling the give of Daryl's stomach before he hits the muscle, how that muscle contracts and releases around Daryl's shaky breath. Rick moves his head, brushes a kiss against Daryl's forehead, heart clenching at the whimper that sounds in Daryl's throat.

“Where does it hurt?” Rick asks.

Daryl huffs out something approaching a laugh, something that wants to be one but can't quite get there.

“Wherever they want it to,” he mumbles.

Rick closes his eyes against the flashes of flesh and flying bone, swept somehow in daylight although it happened at night, a night that could be this one if Negan had pursued, if he so chose... but no. No, he can't reach them here. He might storm Alexandria's gates and he might be let in but he's not getting in this room. He's not getting his hands on Rick's family ever again.

“Rick,” Daryl says through his teeth, and Rick realizes he'd been squeezing tighter, too tight; he lessens the pressure immediately, kissing Daryl's head again in apology, and Daryl shifts against him, inadvertently pressing against Rick's cock.

Rick draws in a sharp breath, but Daryl doesn't seem to hear, or decides to willfully ignore exactly what's happening. And Rick wouldn't blame him if that's the case. He wouldn't want to think about that either, not when his body is suddenly his own again; but Daryl shifts once more, and Rick wonders how much is purpose and how much is instinct and how much is crying need.

For a touch. Any touch that doesn't hurt.

Rick lifts his free hand from its place over their tangle of fingers, swipes his thumb under Daryl's eye and finds the skin wet. Rick lets out his own shaky breath now, closes his eyes and lets his hand feel, sweeping down Daryl's soap-soft neck, the still-damp ends of his hair. Daryl is tense at the beginning of it but slowly relaxes, melting even more deeply against Rick's body as Rick touches him, rubbing a callused thumb across his clavicle, then trailing over the sweatshirt, down his sternum, circling to his side and rubbing across his ribs. He's careful where he knows Daryl's hurt, somewhere on his right side, and it could be bruising or it could be something worse... but he won't press. He needs to trust Daryl like Daryl's trusted him so many times, so he's careful, soft; smoothing the fabric and moving on, moving down, to their joined hands and then below them, lifting Daryl's shirt and trailing his fingers across the skin of his stomach.

Rick looks down at what he can see of Daryl's face. It isn't much; the arch of his brow and nose, one eye drifted mostly shut, dark circles beneath his eyes making him look years older than he did the last time Rick saw him. He seems to be drifting between sleep and wakefulness, and Rick is somehow caught up in it as he feels the thickening hair of Daryl's lower stomach under his fingers, the line of gray elastic that stretches easily to accommodate him. Daryl doesn't respond, but Rick suspects his lack of response is a response of its own, like a rabbit freezing in the bush. Rick's never known a rabbit to smell so good though, so much like something familiar; and he leaves his fingers just at the edge of Daryl's pants until a shudder runs through the other man and he presses his forehead more firmly against Rick's neck.

“Don't stop,” he mumbles.

Rick closes his eyes; doesn't watch either of them as his fingers drift lower, carving trails through Daryl's pubic hair like children running through a cornfield until he finds the waiting column of flesh. Daryl isn't hard, and Rick finds himself glad of it; cradles Daryl's softened dick in his hand, breathes out as Daryl moans softly, tightens his grip on Rick's hand still on his stomach. Rick doesn't stroke him, not at first; feels how vulnerable he is, how soft compared to the sun-thickened skin of his face and arms. Rick breathes in deeply, drifting his thumb across the head of Daryl's cock, feeling Daryl jump as his dick jerks.

“Relax,” Rick says, pulling away from Daryl's cock, back to his lower stomach, pressing in as Daryl trembles. Daryl's breaths are quick and almost nervous but under Rick's hands they begin to slow, to deepen; and only when his still body could be mistaken for sleep does Rick slide his hand back down, feel Daryl's cock filling.

“That's it,” Rick murmurs, rubbing his cheek against Daryl's forehead as Daryl whimpers. “That's it. I have you now. You're safe now, alright?”

“Never safe,” Daryl mumbles, and Rick feels hot tears rolling from Daryl's face to Rick's collarbone.

“You are here. With me. I promise, Daryl. No one's gonna touch you here but me.” Rick is silent for a few moments, moving his fingers up and down Daryl's shaft with the barest of pressure, feeling the minuscule twitches and shifting of Daryl's skin. “Is this ok? That I'm touching you?”

Daryl doesn't say anything; seems preoccupied with keeping his breathing under control, deep and slow; lets himself slump against Rick instead of holding taut. The hard muscles of his back and shoulders remain clenched as they always seem to be, but he's doing his best, Rick knows he's doing his best–

Rick slows his breath to breathe along with Daryl, feels their bodies falling in synch, pushes in on Daryl's stomach at the same time as he closes his entire hand around Daryl's shaft, balancing him in his palm, index finger tracing the line of the head underneath his foreskin. Daryl is half hard at this point, and Rick knows he could make this go faster; knows how to touch Daryl to get him coming in minutes, what to whisper in his ear, what parts of his neck to kiss. But he doesn't much care about Daryl coming, not yet; doesn't care about himself at all, his dick trapped uncomfortably in his jeans as it strains towards Daryl's lower back. He touches Daryl like he's comforting a child, but in a way to make the adult understand too.

Rick is here. He's not leaving. Daryl isn't in the dark anymore.

Daryl's breath hitches and Rick realizes that his grip has gone tighter than he meant it to. He begins to loosen it but freezes when Daryl whines, high and desperate, clenching down again on Rick's other hand.

“Please,” he whispers, and he sounds so young that Rick feels tears prickle the back of his eyes.

“Alright,” he says, kissing Daryl again, stroking his stomach with his thumb, taking him more firmly in hand. “You don't have to say anything, ok? Just feel it. You feel me?”

“Yeah,” Daryl breathes, his hips rolling a little as Rick strokes him up and down. After a few passes he pulls his hand from Daryl's pants; ignores Daryl's protest to spit in his own hand, roll the spittle around his palm, return to the cock now straining against Daryl's sweats.

The glide is easier now. Rick avoids Daryl's sensitive head and slit, not wanting to startle him again; focuses on his thick and thickening base, fixing his mind on the vein pounding through Daryl's underside. Rick doesn't touch the head but he sees the wet stain begin to grow on the front of Daryl's sweats; moments later, feels wetness begin to drip down his knuckles, and Rick is so overwhelmed he has to close his eyes again.

“You're doing so good, Daryl,” he murmurs. Daryl stiffens again. Rick rubs his stomach soothingly. “I want you to get hard, ok? I wanna hold you in my hand and make you come.”

“Why?” Daryl mumbles, breath hot on Rick's neck.

“Cause you deserve it,” Rick whispers. “You deserve to feel good.”

“Rick–“

“You ain't there anymore Daryl. You're with me. You made it back to me.” Rick can't stop kissing Daryl now, wherever he can reach; his forehead and eyelids and the line of his hair, his hand on Daryl's dick moving faster. “I love you, brother. And I want you to come for me. Can you do that?”

Daryl whines high in his throat, hips bucking noticeably into Rick's hand now, tremors rushing through his muscles. Rick isn't avoiding the head of Daryl's dick anymore—runs his knuckles into the ridge and then up and over it, palming him and sucking in a breath at the wetness smearing his palm.

Relaxation is over. Daryl's body is tightening, winding deep, one hand clutching Rick's and the other his thigh, bitten nails scrambling for a hold. What Rick can see of him is flushed, blushing; Rick pauses in his stroking to pull the front of Daryl's sweats down under his balls, let his cock spring up, hard and trembling and seeming to sigh in relief when Rick closes his hand around it once more.

“I need to see you,” Rick says. “You're so fucking beautiful, Daryl. We're so beautiful. Look at us, baby, look.”

Rick feels Daryl's head turning as he aims his gaze downward; hears the sharp intake of breath when he sees Rick's hand moving up and down his pounding flesh, the shimmer of spit and pre-cum spread over both of them. Rick presses his temple against Daryl's, watches them together, feels the painful thundering in his own chest echoed through Daryl's back.

“That's it,” Rick whispers. “You're almost there. Keep going, sweetheart, keep going–“

Daryl seizes like an electric current has shot through his body, grinding inadvertently against Rick's cock as his mouth opens in a silent cry and his stomach muscles spasm and his erection begins to shoot—thick streams of cum like he's been holding it inside himself for years, and at this point maybe he has—and Rick doesn't slow down at the first spurt but speeds up, squeezing as tightly as he can, mouth open against Daryl's temple like he would catch every drop before it hits the floor if he could.

It lasts only seconds, but it feels longer; soft desperate keens sounding from the base of Daryl's throat, his hand cutting off the circulation in Rick's fingers, his cock thick and hard and jerking as it empties itself across Rick's hand and his own thighs.

He comes down slowly, shivering; relaxing again and then relaxing further, lying limply against Rick's chest and his cock still pressing into Daryl's spine. Rick slows his stroking as the spurts of cum thin; keeps his hand still when they cease, still but for the thumb running up and down Daryl's pulsing vein, keeping time with their heartbeats.

Rick holds Daryl as he softens; lays Daryl's cock gently against his thigh before reaching down and cupping his balls, holding them careful but firm, feels his hand begin to sweat from the heat blasting off them. Daryl shudders again as Rick massages them gently, feels the contours of his empty sacs, holds them tight and precious to his body.

“Ok?” Rick asks.

“Yeah,” Daryl whispers, sounding dazed.

Rick doesn't think he's lying, so he takes it; lifts his hips with some effort to roll the blankets out from under them, pull them up across Daryl's still shivering body. Rick rolls them onto their sides, Daryl's good side; combs his hand through Daryl's hair, kisses his neck, rolls Daryl's testicles in the palm of his hand. Daryl reaches down to stop him and Rick immediately ceases, but Daryl doesn't pull him away; remains with his hand cupped around Rick's, using Rick's touch to hold himself together.

“Don't you gotta go back to Michonne?” Daryl asks. His voice is slurred; he's already falling asleep.

“She knows I'm here. She wants me with you. She wants me to help you.”

“Rick,” Daryl whispers, voice trembling. “I'm sorry I didn't–“

“Shhh,” Rick says, nuzzles Daryl's neck through his hair, kisses his spine warmly, holds his balls tight. “You did so good,” Rick whispers. “So good. I'm proud of you.”

Rick feels the shaking in Daryl's torso and he knows he's crying again, but Rick doesn't say anything; just snuggles in closer until he could almost imagine himself inside Daryl's skin.

“You did good, Daryl,” Rick whispers. “Sleep now, alright? I got you. I got you.”

After a few final shudders, Daryl's breathing slows and his body grows lax. Rick takes the moment to pull his hand away from Daryl's balls, feel his softened cock one more time, put his hand on Daryl's stomach and hold him close. He'd forgotten what it feels like to fit like this. Not just as brothers, but as this.

Rick doesn't sleep much that night; pays too much attention to the sound of Daryl's breathing, waiting for any hitch, any indiction that he's in pain or trapped in a nightmare or both. But it never comes. And when dawn's light begins to filter through the small window Rick at last allows his eyes to drift closed. His cock went soft a long time ago and even though he was never satisfied he feels content.

Michonne sleeps in the bedroom downstairs; Carl in the one next to her. And Daryl is here. They might all die tomorrow but for tonight, right now, they're here. And Rick feels for the first time in a long time that they might stay that way.

 


End file.
